


Sticks and Stones

by Vamillepudding



Series: Not A Meet-Cute [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Humor, Hurt Charles, Light Angst, M/M, Sort of anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13869060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vamillepudding/pseuds/Vamillepudding
Summary: “I've broken my arm” Charles announced.“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little" Erik replied.**Or: Charles breaks his arm. It's just another day for him and his boyfriend.Can be read as a Stand-Alone.





	Sticks and Stones

**Author's Note:**

> Ed

“I've broken my arm” Charles announced as he burst into Erik's flat. Well, he supposed he should be calling it _their_ flat by now, seeing as he had moved in a little less than three weeks ago. Erik had asked, demanded and begged Charles to make what he called a Big Step in their relationship, and just when he had started to resign, Charles had agreed.

Erik didn't even put down his newspaper upon his boyfriend' dramatic entrance. After they had moved in together, it hadn't taken him long to learn that Charles would storm into their flat in a dramatic manner quite frequently, the last time being when he had seen an ex-girlfriend with her new boyfriend (“So what?” “He's hot, Erik!” “So _what_?” “She's the winner.” “Am I not hot?” “He's hotter.”).

“What's that?” he asked absently.

“My arm. It's broken. You can see a little bit of bone sticking out actually, here, look.” Charles held his left arm up so that Erik could see. Erik turned green instantly. 

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.” 

“So did I” Charles said happily. “When it happened. And then when I first looked at it. I'm fine now though.” 

“I wouldn't call this fine” Erik said from behind the paper, and Charles frowned. 

“Are you...hiding?” 

“No. Yes. Shut up. And stay away from me, you're making me feel all queasy. Why aren't you in pain?” 

“I shut down my pain receptors. God, I _love_ being a telepath. I know everyone hates us, and it's so hard to stay friends with people when they find out, but it is so worth it. Best power ever. Can you get me to a hospital?” 

“Get Hank to drive you.” Erik poked his head out, took one look at Charles and closed his eyes. Charles thought he saw his boyfriend's hands shaking a little.

“I can't, he's not answering his phone. Raven is on a holiday, and even if she were here, I am not driving with my sister ever again. The last time she almost ran someone over. And that's everyone who's living in the area. You're the one, Erik. The chosen one. Drive me to the hospital, Erik.” 

“Get a cab” Erik snapped. “I couldn't give you a lift anyway, you'd distract me from the road.” 

“Aw, because you're so in love with me?” 

“Because there is _bone_ sticking out of your _skin_ , oh my god, I'm gonna be sick.”

Charles waited politely until the retching noises coming from the bathroom had stopped and used the spare time to install a new ringtone for Erik's phone. When silence finally settled back in, he called loudly: “Darling, I swear to god if you don't drive me right now, I will come in there and plant an image of my arm in your head and make you look at it _until eternity_.”

The toilet flushed, and Erik came out, a scowl on his face. He was pointedly staring at the ceiling. 

“Letting you move in was a mistake. This whole relationship was a mistake. I regret the day I gave you my number” Erik muttered to himself as he searched for the car keys. Charles smiled.

 

**  
  
The hospital waiting room wasn't as full as Charles had expected, but it didn't stop Erik from frowning anyway. Neither of them were particularly patient, but Charles at his worst wasn't nearly as bad as Erik on his best.

It didn't take more than five minutes for Erik to start sighing loudly. After ten minutes, he was using his power to slowly crumble Charles' metal watch, pressing it finally into a smooth ball.

(“For God's sake, Erik, this was expensive.” “No it wasn't.” “How would you know?” “I bought it for you ages ago.” “And you got me a cheap present? What, I was only worth 20 dollars?” “We had only been together for four weeks at the time, so, yes.” “Fair enough.”)

When the 20-minute-mark had been passed, Erik was back to sighing, and he had also taken up asking 'so how much longer do you think this is going to take?' every thirty seconds.

“Alright, that's it” Charles said. “You can go. I don't want you here any longer.”

“But your arm-”

“Erik.” 

“I'll see you at home.” With that, Erik was out of the doors before Charles could even say goodbye. Charles was left to his own devices, which meant apologising to the other patients for his boyfriend, an art he had perfected over the last year.

The thing was, he thought an hour later, still sitting in that stupid waiting room, the thing was that he hadn't really expected them to work out. He had pictured him and Erik going on a date together, maybe two, three at most, sleeping together during at least one occasion, and then the inevitable conclusion that this wasn't going anywhere. But then things had turned out entirely different.

“We're good together” he had told Raven on Christmas, both of them already pleasantly drunk. “We _work_.” And they were, and they did. That was the precise reason why Charles had refused to move intogether for a solid eight months and three weeks, even though Erik's arguments had been solid:

His apartment was closer to university than Charles, it was in a better neighbourhood, it was bigger and nicer, and if they split the rent, it would even be cheaper for Charles in the long run. Yes, Charles had said each time, but it's too soon. Because it had been. Erik had first popped the question, if you will, three and a half months into their relationship.

Charles' objection had led to the biggest fight they had ever had, and it had included everything: Screaming until your throat is sore and the neighbours threaten to call the cops, passive-aggressive door-slamming, a glass shattering on the ground, angry sex, and then more screaming.

Like most fights in relationships, that one hadn't really been about the initial argument. Erik had accused Charles of being afraid of commitment, Charles had accused Erik of being an asshole with no sense of boundaries, and in the end they had agreed to put the move on hold.

And then, almost nine months later, Charles had walked into Erik's apartment using his spare key, made himself a cup of tea and started reading a book, not remembering until late in the evening that Erik had plans and would probably stay out until morning. The proper thing to do would have been to just go home, but instead Charles had stayed and made breakfast the next day, and a week later he showed up at Erik's flat with a box and the words

“I'm moving in, don't be weird about this.”

 

“Dr. Xavier? You're up next” the nurse said, interrupting that train of thought. Charles got up and fixed his pain receptors, and almost fainted from the pain.

Later on the subway he checked his phone and saw that he had three missed calls from Erik. For a person who hated his cellphone with a passion, this was a lot. Charles called back.

“ _This is Erik, whom am I speaking to?”_

“Erik, you and I both know that you could see my name on your screen, don't pretend.”

_"So how did it go at the hospital?”_

“Well, I had to assure the doctor twice that I wasn't in an abusive relationship, and when she finally believed me, she gave me her number.” 

_“_ _I'm pretty sure she's not allowed to do that.”_

“Yes, but who cares? A _doctor_ , Erik. The next time I break something, I am so going to call her. I could not have hoped for a better outcome.”

“ _Please tell me you did not break your arm so you could have a doctor on speeddial.”_

“Of course not. If anything, this is a very welcome coincidence.”

_“How did you break it, anyway?”_

“Er...” Charles looked around, spotted the magazine the surly teenager next to him was reading, did his best to look apologetic and ripped out a page which he proceeded to crumble right in front of the phone. “Think...breaking up...so sorry...later!”

“ _I hate-”_ Charles hung up. The teenage boy was staring at him, so Charles passed him the crumbled page. 

“Sorry about that.”

“Dude. What is your problem?” 

“I had to hang up on him” Charles told the boy. “He was about to tell me that he hated me. My fragile feelings couldn't handle it. I'm about to start crying. May I use this magazine as a tissue replacement?”

“What, no, I-” 

“Thank you so much” he interrupted, took it from the teen, put in his pocket and got off the train. The doors closed behind him, the train drove off, and he realised he had gotten off two stations too early. Brilliant.

 

He didn't walk back home immediately, dropping by at his sister's place first to water the plants. This was a task she had given him three weeks ago, calling him from the airport on the way to a spontaneous trip to Mexico. Naturally Charles had agreed, and promptly forgotten all about it until this very minute.

All the plants were dead except for a robust-looking potted plant in the corner of the bedroom, which he just left alone on the basis that if it had survived until now, it might very well continue surviving until whenever it was that Raven returned.

The next stop was at Hank's, a former student of his who had turned into a good friend. Hank made him a cup of tea, and it only took about five minutes of polite smalltalk and ten more on university matters until he got to the reason why he had presumably invited Charles to come over.

“So, er, I got your voicemail. About the, you know, the hospital thing. I just wanted to let you know that I'm very sorry about not being there for you.” Charles put the cup back in the saucer and waved his friend off.

“Don't worry about it. I was told just yesterday that I can't expect other people to drop everything just for my sake.”

“Raven?”

“Erik.” Hank winced at that, though Charles couldn't begin to fathom why. Erik hadn't meant it to be cruel, and Charles hadn't perceived it that way, especially because his boyfriend had told him this after Charles had tried to convince him to leave work early and get some ice cream. Did Hank not understand that? He narrowed his eyes. “Is something the matter?”

“I actually wanted to, well, talk to you about that.”

“About Erik?” Charles clarified, making it a question.

“Er, yes.”

“Tell me he hasn't insulted you again. He has, hasn't he? God, I'm going to kill him when I get home. Just the other day I had a very firm talk with him on how to treat people, but did he listen? Apparently he did not.”

Erik, as Charles kept insisting to his sister and all his friends to whom he had introduced his boyfriend, was really quite charming once you got to know him. The ironic thing about this was that he was telling Erik the exact same thing about his friends. He was at a loss on why his social circle and his boyfriend didn't get along – apart from the fact that Erik was an asshole. Actually, that was probably the reason.

The only person who did get along with Erik was, ironically, Raven. Until last year, Charles had only spoken to his sister every other month, because they both had the unfortunate habit to find each other's weakest points within seconds of each conversation, and then rile up the other person so long until one of them stormed off.

It had been fun, it had been their thing, and it had been put on hold as soon as Erik stepped into the picture. Nowadays Raven kept dropping by for coffee, or inviting them to dinner, or just generally being very nice, which scared Charles more than anything.

The last time his sister had displayed a similar behaviour, she had dropped out of school shortly thereafter and gone on a backpacking trip through Thailand with a guy she had met in a bar.

All in all it wasn't very surprising that Hank was bringing up the subject of Erik now, although Charles had kind of hoped they would be past this by now.

“No, he didn't insult me...well, he did, but I don't mind.”

“You should mind, Hank. You're allowed to mind. He can't treat you that way.” If anything, this made Hank look more uncomfortable.

“Er, no, that's not the point. It's about how he treats _you_.” Charles hesitated, waiting for the punchline. When none came, he frowned.

“What are you talking about? When has Erik ever treated me anything but fine? Well, except for when he wouldn't drive me to the hospital, but-”

“Exactly!” Hank yelped, then cringed at the noise he had made. Quiet this time, he repeated: “Exactly. After you called this morning, Erik called and asked if I could pick you up. Why couldn't he do that himself? I don't mind doing these things, but this time I was busy, and he's your boyfriend, owns a car and clearly had time.”

“This is actually quite amusing” Charles began, but was interrupted.

“No! It's not! He's a douche! I'm sorry, but he is. I've been holding my tongue for a year, we all have, but now you've moved in together and he can't even be bothered to take care of you when you're injured, and personally I think that's not right.”

“What do you mean, 'we' ?” Hank now sported that deer-in-the-headlights-look that suited him so well.

“Did I say 'we'? I'm, er, sure that I said 'I'.”

“I'm pretty sure you didn't. Hank, did you _bring someone in on this_?”

“Well, okay, yes, Moira. But that's it, I swear. We wanted to tell you this together, but since you were here anyway...”

“What is this, an intervention?” Charles asked sourly, then sighed as Hank said nothing. “Great.” It's not as though he didn't appreciate the concern. He did. And he knew his friends were trying to look out for him. But... _but_.

“Look. I'm not asking you to like Erik. God knows he doesn't try very hard. But I _am_ asking you to trust me. I don't need to defend myself about the choices I make, and I'm not going to. I will say this, however. Erik isn't perfect, but then neither am I. This relationship is between him and me only. Please respect this.”

“Fine” Hank said, looking decidedly unhappy. Charles gave him the thumbs up.

“Perfect. Now, I brought you this magazine as a gift.”

He held it out as a peace-offering. His friend studied the cover, a frown etched on his face.

“' _Fashionlicious_ '? Is that even a word? It looks like it's for 13-year-olds. Did you just give me a magazine for 13-year-olds?”

“Just be thankful, Hank, don't make a fuss” Charles told him. The glare Hank directed his way was just about the funniest thing he had seen all week.

 

***  
  
At home – Erik's flat, his flat, their flat – Erik was just finishing the soup he was cooking when Charles came in, the second time that day, his arm in a cast this time. He did his best not to wrinkle his nose upon seeing what his boyfriend was doing.

“I hate soup.”

“You're sick” Erik replied matter-of-factly and held out the spoon so that Charles could try a bit. Charles ignored him. “That's what you do for sick people. You make them soup and tea and hold their hair when they're vomiting.”

“I'm pretty sure the first two are only for colds, and the third is for hangovers. Have you ever been sick before? Because it sure sounds like you haven't.”

“I think I had the chickenpox once as a child. So you don't want my soup?” Erik asked, sounding wounded, and a tiny bit offended.

“It's not like I don't appreciate what you are trying to do...” Charles trailed off. Erik was already getting their stack of takeout-menus, muttering to himself about ingratitude.

Later, as they were sitting on the couch eating Chinese food, Charles considered briefly telling his boyfriend about the conversation he had had with Hank a few hours ago, then decided against it. He did tap into Erik's mind though, just for a second, not trying to detect thoughts, just picking up the emotion most prominent right now. It wasn't a test, he told himself. It wasn't to see if Hank had had a point.

He didn't know what else it was.

It wasn't hard to find what he had been looking for, of course it hadn't. It was written all over the other man's mind. _Content_.

Quietly, Charles withdrew. He ate another bit of rice, then glanced at Erik.

“So” he said, grinning. “What are you willing to do to hear how I broke my arm?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You guys asked for a second part, so here it is. If you enjoyed it, tell me in the comments ! Thank you for reading. I already have ideas about a third part...
> 
> Also, do you guys have any suggestions about how Charles broke his arm?
> 
> Edit 21/03/2018: I changed "two years" to "one year" where the duration of their relationship is concerned, which is what I meant to write originally and what I - correctly- wrote in the rest of the story.


End file.
